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A fine breath of mist lingers deep in the mountains. Black treetops. Chaste cold. Thunder-dark noise. “A fool in the forest and snow” trudges loudly and evilly through winter's silent splendor. It is a dark fellow, wrapped in the devil's black robe. His step breaks twigs and ice. He looks backwards, a musty pitchfork in his hand, and snorts at the frost and smoke. O you chaste coldness, you draw down the dark gray moon. What noble melancholy sucks on stream and wood? It is the prayer of the forest. Hear it. Does it smell. Feel it.
Snow footsteps, storm
[THE DARK COMPANY (whispering):]
The shimmer of this night is blue and enthroned
and with a gentle shimmer it hides the lamentations of the silent forest splendor.< br/>I am one with fir and gorge...with ice...wind...mountain...and murder.
(screams)
I am...winter's dark companion.
I am the rock.
[THE DARK COMPANY / FOREST WOMAN :]
I am the kiss of the muse and I smile like a child.
â¦Kiss of the muse and you smile like a child.
My heart trembles to this bitter morning wind.
Your heart trembles to this bitter morning wind.
[THE DARK COMPANY:]
I sought measure and support in cruel form.
(whispers)
I, I am the forest,
so wonderful and cold.